The art of love in two books. Written both to men and ladies. A new poem.

Letters.

HE Writes, perhaps, peruse what he has Writ, And if the bearer waits, extoll his Wit. Say, 'tis above your reach, and you implore, That he would Write, you know not what, no more Give your cold Service, and the Note return, Or if some Fire be near, the Letter Burn. Say, it requires no Answer, so remove; For Maids should never Answer Notes of Love: Trust me, 'tis dang'rous; for if Virgins Write, They lose the noblest Trophies of the Fight.

Some Men boast Favours which they never knew, Yet some are secret still, tho' very few, For Men feel vanity—as much as you. Those maids, whose Sparks, their Loving Notes ex∣pose, The ills they find in Writing can disclose Write not, tho' most in Letters you excell, Write not to show your Lover you Write well, No, be not tempted, tho' you know to Spell. Write not, no never, never Write to Men, We cannot take denyals from your Pen, 'Tis ours to Write, and Write, and Write again. Silence in you, shall all our thoughts deceive, You make reply sufficient, to receive.